


I turn my camera on

by ohmcgee



Series: ohmcgee's mallverse [40]
Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Retail, M/M, Photography, because Tim, mallverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-27
Updated: 2016-09-27
Packaged: 2018-08-17 14:16:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8147150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmcgee/pseuds/ohmcgee
Summary: Roy finds the scrapbook almost a year after they meet





	

“You’ve always got that thing,” Roy says, blowing a shitty smoke ring up at Tim while Tim straddles his waist and takes another picture. He steals the joint from Roy while he holds the polaroid with his other hand and waits for it to develop. “What’s the deal?”

“No deal,” Tim says, setting the polaroid down on the bed next to the other three he’d already taken. “I’m allowed to have hobbies, Roy.”

“Sure,” Roy says, reaching up to mess with the bar in Tim’s nipple. “I just thought they all involved orgasms.”

“ _Well,_ ” Tim smirks and grinds his ass back against Roy’s dick. 

He ends up with weird bruises all over his chest from the camera banging against it while Roy bounces him on his dick, and when Roy comes he accidentally hits the shutter button.

Tim tucks the three and a half inch picture of Roy’s mouth in his back pocket when he leaves. 

 

: : :

 

Roy finds the scrapbook almost a year after they meet when he’s digging around in Tim’s closet trying to find the strappy shoes Tim called him from work and asked him to bring because it was “a footwear emergency.”

He spends the next half hour looking through every picture Tim has ever taken of them. There’s little pictures on each page, some of Jay and Steph, goofy ones of Dick hanging off the counter at work upside. There’s a whole two spread page of Roy’s tattoos and it’s weird, kinda, not even knowing Tim had all these. 

Some of them have the date scrawled on them in purple sharpie. Some just have smiley faces or glittery stickers he stole from Claire’s. There’s one of the two of them that Roy must have been high as shit when Tim took because he doesn’t remember _ever_ wearing a My Little Pony shirt, _1.618_ scribbled across the bottom. 

It feels wrong, somehow, looking at all Tim’s pictures without him knowing. Roy shuts the book and puts it back where he found it, lights up a cigarette and scratches his wrist absentmindedly. 

There’s a kind of guilt gnawing at him, like he just looked at something that wasn’t meant for him. Tim’s a closed up kind of person. He shares things when he wants to, on his own time, and Roy feels like an asshole for forcing his way in. 

“Fuck,” he says and finishes his cigarette before scooping Tim’s shoes up and heading down to the mall 

 

: : :

 

Tim doesn’t take his camera out for almost a month. He brings it along to work with him one day, takes a bunch of artsy black and white pictures of his cinnabon and a bunch of the customers, telling them it enters them in a competition to win a free t-shirt. (It doesn’t.) 

On their fifth break Tim takes his camera out and snaps a picture of Roy wearing a tiara in Claire’s. When they make it down to the water fountain Roy snakes the camera away from Tim and puts his eye up to the viewfinder window. 

“I found your scrapbook,” he says. _Clickwhir._ “I was looking for your gold strappy shoes that day you were upset because Harley was wearing the same ones.” _Clickwhir._

He doesn’t really look mad through the viewfinder, but then again Tim’s expressions don’t always match up with how he’s feeling. God, he is fucking pretty though. As he takes picture after picture -- Tim’s mouth, his profile -- Roy understands why people get into this photography thing. He could take pictures of Tim for _days._

“Are you pissed?”

Roy takes another picture when Tim’s eyebrows go all scrunchy. “No, why would I be?”

“Dunno,” Roy shrugs. “Figured if you wanted me to know about it you would’ve told me.”

Tim lays back against the stone and Roy takes another picture of his belly, the sliver of pale skin where his shirt rides up. 

“I used to have more,” Tim says. “Cameras, I mean. I even had a dark room. Before.”

Roy removes the strap from around his head, hands the camera back to Tim. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Tim says. “It’s just. I guess it’s the one thing that’s always been constant for me.”

Tim takes another picture of Roy and slides it in his back pocket, drags him back to work before he can think of anything to say to that.


End file.
